


Bulgarian

by NorthNode



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 09:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthNode/pseuds/NorthNode
Summary: Bulgarian roses?





	Bulgarian

**Author's Note:**

> Bulgarian rose garden.

He smelled the roses before he saw them, when from the dark a line in Cyrillic confirmed that he was close enough to wake up. The aroma could not prepare him for the sheer number of flowers that, still open, because of the heat more than the light, sprung into his vision from the surrounding bushes, emerging from the ever growing shadows in a last show of colors before darkness could swallow them at last.   
They looked beautiful and that proved no explanation at all for the tightness in his throat, for his urge to plunge face forward into their peach colored frills and hope that their pallor wouldn't´t, please wouldn't´t disintegrate and die against his skin.   
He could barely resist the urge to poke their little yellow centers with his nose, feel their resistance against his eyelashes and so he hovered, as if on guard, ears trained on the sound of the remains of a garden just weeks before tended to by the Pawlowski family. He would open fire on them that evening, having broken into the cellar of their summer residence. This mission would be an easily earned success.

“It´s almost as if Pawlowski wanted to die there, it was so beautiful.” The Hydra operative checked the machine gun before storing it away in the truck. 

He turned his head away from the darkness and towards the steady shine of the Vws headlights that held some dust in suspension before leaving it to swirl down onto the pave stones that centuries of use had rounded so that between square rivulets of dirt the granite reflected the soft yellow.

He held his secret like that, his heartbeat observed in the crease between his jaw and his neck as it escaped his control, but not really felt, in the shadow, under the stubble, and shielded that point from sight as he waited for the meaning of his behavior to reveal itself to him.   
It would not, for centuries to come it would skirt just around his awareness without breaching beyond trained fear, but it would refuse to sleep when he couldn´t and it would make him restless at times, shaking inside of him like now.

The reason was, he had finally broken out of his shyness, bent down into the foliage and pressed his cheeks to the purple bouquet. Gentler than fingertips, the petals skirted over him slow, then slower until he realized he was holding his breath, until he opened his mouth to swallow their scent. It smelled human, so human that his ribs felt the ghost of ribs against them, a pair of blue eyes appeared behind his eyelids and he saw a laugh he could almost hear.

Already the sun was terminating its journey and sending his signal, so he hurried up and went down to his knees, collecting the fallen pieces, cool to the touch but still alive enough, so with caution, and dripped them into his pocket. 

Fourteen hours from then a hydra agent would find them there.

“Sukhotsvety!“ 

He would laugh about it, about the sentiment the american must have picked up from them russians, until he wondered if he ought to report it under dysfunctions.

Unbeknowns to the family downstairs, the petals would scent the staircase while the asset unlocked the security on his gun, and married to his sweat, it would make him think that he smelled just like another human.


End file.
